


Bollocks to the Teams

by orphan_account



Category: Sanders Sides (Web Series)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-18
Updated: 2019-12-18
Packaged: 2021-02-25 21:42:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,028
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21852391
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Relationships: Anxiety | Virgil Sanders & Creativity | Roman "Princey" Sanders, Logic | Logan Sanders/Morality | Patton Sanders
Comments: 3
Kudos: 10
Collections: Sanders Sides Secret Santa 2019





	Bollocks to the Teams

Roman stepped off the minibus with his gym bag slung over his shoulder, squinting his eyes against the blistering light of the sun.

The hotel loomed over him, Patton and Logan, a symbol of how far away they were from home. Enduring the grueling four hour drive here would be worth it to win gold. Or even just to beat the stupid Black Dragons. Last year was a draw, the year before that was the Dragons, and the year before _that_ was them, the Phoenixes.

Roman refused to tie with Virgil again.

***

They were in the lobby. Logan squinted through his glasses (which begged the question: were his glasses strong enough?) to inspect their reservations.

"Ah, yes. Roman. I am afraid that, because there is an odd number of people in the group and we could only afford double rooms, you will have to share with a member of the Dragons."

Roman, who'd been scribbling his name down to reserve the hotel gym from 2 until 4–which wasn't exactly allowed–choked on his breath.

" _What_!? No way! Get Patton to share with one of them! He's all happy and pappy and stuff."

"I'm afraid that that will not be possible."

Roman narrowed his eyes.

"Did you do this so you could room with Patton?"

Logan adjusted his tie. "I have no clue what you're insinuating."

"You little–"

"Here's your room pass, 19D." The taller boy forced the white, plastic card into his hands before he was off to inquire whether the hotel had a library.

"Hey, Ro, what's up? Why the long face?" Patton sidled up next to him, tilting his head in innocent confusion.

"I have to share with someone on the Black Dragons' team," he muttered miserably.

Patton's pale brown eyes cleared in understanding. "Ah. Well, don't worry! The competition's only three days, so your rooming shouldn't _drag-on_."

Roman groaned.

"Why don't you try and get to your room first? That way you'll be ready for them."

"Huh. Good idea, Pat!" he clapped the short boy in the back, perhaps a bit too hard judging by the _oof_ sound he made, before speeding up the stairs. The elevator would take too long.

 _This carpet is so_ _**bland**_ , Roman thought as his eyes scanned the long line of oaken doors.

 _16D, 17D, 18D..._ 19D.

Roman sighed, sliding his pass through. At least he'd get here before whoever–

The door swung inward at the push of his hand and the colour drained from Roman's face when he realized that he had not, in fact, gotten there first. And that his roommate was...

Virgil glanced up from his phone screen and his face twisted into a grimace.

They both cursed at the same time.

"Oh come on!"

***

Turns out, Virgil had reserved the gym as well.

"Why don't you just share?" the receptionist had said.

The two of them glared at each other.

"Fine," Virgil huffed before Roman could protest.

Though it was called a gym, it was more of a sports hall, with hoops and nets and sports equipment tucked away in cupboards at the far ends of the room. Roman's sneakers squeaked against the shiny, waxed floor as he jogged to the centre of the room. He started on his stretches, refusing to even acknowledge Virgil's existence. Once he was warmed up, he was rummaging around the cupboard, retrieving the only basketball there.

"Hey," Virgil said sharply. Roman turned to him with a scowl.

"What?"

"I was gonna practice with the basketball."

He glanced down at the orange-brown ball in his hands, "Huh. That's too bad."

"Hey, don't be a dick. We can just take turns doing shots." He planted his hands firmly on his hips, blowing his black bangs out of his face.

Part of him was repulsed by playing with a Black Dragon, but another part of him was thrilled at the chance to challenge one.

And that part was bigger.

"Fine. Embarrass yourself."

Neither of them even played basketball competitively, but that wasn't stopping them. At some point they lost count, but Roman, just like Virgil, was convinced he'd won. The only sound in the hall had been the ringing of the basketball slamming against various surfaces, or the soft sound of it slipping through the net. That and their heavy breathing and hurled insults. That made the heavy silence that followed all the more weighty. Virgil looked exhausted, hair sticking to his forehead from the sheen of sweat that had built up and breath coming in thick pants. Roman doubted he was much better. The silence was uncomfortable. They never really talked, being rivals and all... but now it kind of felt like they'd have to.

"So..." Virgil started, "We kind of need to go?"

"Huh. You're right." Roman checked his watch and saw that the emo nightmare was actually right.

His shirt was sticking to him uncomfortably, and it was already hot enough because of summer. The air was thick with heat that was peeling in from the wall to ceiling windows, making his difficult breath harder. Unable to do much else, Roman tore his gym shirt off. And, as expected, his abs were glistening with sweat.

 _Gross_ , he thought as he went into his bag to get a towel. He ruffled it through his hair and wiped down his bare stomach and back, completely unaware of Virgil's wide eyed stare.

Roman grabbed his spare shirt and slipped it on, welcoming how it was colder than his sweat soaked one. God, he stank.

"Let's go," he called to Virgil before jogging past him. Virgil stood rooted to the spot, shocked and silent for a moment, before his mind re-entered his body and he followed his opponent.

They were silent in the elevator. Roman bounced on the balls of his feet awkwardly, whistling _Someday My Prince Will Come_ quietly. The elevator pinged as it slowed to a stop before the doors slid open. Wordlessly, they stepped out onto the still hideous beige carpet, strolling down the hallway to their room, which was almost at the very end of the windowed hall.

The moment they were in their room, Virgil threw himself onto his bed, pulling out a Miles Morales comic from under his pillow and flicking to a bookmarked page. Roman's eyes lit up.

"Oh my God–you read the Miles Morales Spider-Man comics!?"

Virgil jumped, staring at him in alarm before relaxing. "... Yeah."

Without thinking, Roman ambled over and sat down on Virgil's bed.

"Have you watched Spider-verse?"

"Duh. What do you take me for?"

 _A Black Dragon_ , Roman thought instantly. When reminded that Virgil was supposed to be his rival, he prepared himself to distance himself again, but then Virgil kept talking...

"The lowered frame rate was so cool, right!? Because, unlike season one of The Dragon Prince, it looked like a stylistic decision–" Virgil's eyes were ablaze with excitement as his hands gesticulated wildly. He rambled about rigs and colour schemes and _"It took a week to animate one second! Making ten seconds they were happy with took a year! A year!"_

Roman couldn't help joining in with the stuff he knew about the creative process and the actors, and before they knew it, it was time for the first game. Neither of their teams were actually competing, but Virgil had asked if he wanted to watch with him and they were... bonding, sort of. Not that Roman was admitting _that_. He was just doing this to be nice, not because he liked Virgil or anything. At least, that's what he told himself.

***

You're getting a corn dog?" Roman's nose scrunched up, "They're so gross."

Virgil looked positively affronted.

"They're a delicacy!"

The pair started bickering as they shuffled past people into their plastic, faded red seats. The sky was clear and blue, not a single cloud in sight, and the Floridian sun continued to beat mercilessly down on them. The basketball game was about to commence.

"The Eagles are soo winning this," Roman muttered, eyes fixed on the game.

Virgil frowned. "Are you insane? The Thunderclouds will."

"What kind of name even is 'Thunderclouds'? That's so dumb!"

"The name hardly matters," Virgil replied as he settled into his seat, biting into his corndog. A bit of the mustard smeared onto his cheek.

"Hey, you've got, yh–" Roman gestures vaguely at his cheek.

Virgil stared before it clicked. "Oh."

He rubbed at his face, completely missing the bright yellow smudge, "Got it?"

"Nope."

"Now?"

"No."

"How about now?"

"Y'know what, lemme just–" Roman leaned over, rubbing it gently away with his thumb. _If you want_ _something_ _done right, do it_ _yourself_ _._

Virgil cleared his throat, turning his head away toward the game that was a out to start. "Uh, thanks."

"No problem," Roman shrugged. For such a romantic, he was painfully oblivious to the homosexual undertones his actions held.

***

The Thunderclouds won. And Roman was not living that down any time soon.

"Yes!" Virgil laughed as they walked back toward their hotel, "I don't want to say I told you so–"

"Yes you do."

"Yes. I do. I told you so!" He grinned.

Roman had never seen Virgil smile before. It was... nice.

Hastily, he tried to shake that ludicrous thought away, as if the physical movement of it would make its non physical counterpart more successful. Spoiler alert: it didn't.

"Whatever. Enjoy this victory while it lasts. I'm crushing you tomorrow!"

The pale boy rolled his eyes, "We'll see about that."

***

The race had begun. Two laps. 800m.

Roman and Virgil were neck and neck. Sweat was beading on Roman's brow. He was hyper aware of his heart thudding in his chest, of the sun's heat burning his naturally tan skin, of the sound of his shortened breathing. He was also aware of Virgil, jogging next to him, equally as exhausted. Virgil managed to pull ahead slightly, and the finish line was within sight...

Then he fell.

The tumble was rather violent. He tripped and went flying, smacking sickeningly into the red tarmac and rolling with a cry before stopping and immediately clutching his ankle with a pained whimper. Roman faltered, watching his opponent's agony as he clung to his foot. He hesitated. The finish line was _so close_.

It hurt. It hurt so much. But he abandoned the finish line completely. It didn't matter that it was Virgil. It could've been anyone and he would've helped. He dragged him up from the ground, slinging his arm around his shoulder and slowly helping him along as he hobbled and sobbed. There was a chorus of gasps and mutterings from the crowd as they walked along with other competitors running past them, but Roman barely noticed.

"Hey, it'll be okay," he said, over and over as a pair of medics ran up to them, taking Virgil away while Roman followed helplessly behind. He'd lost gold in the national track competition, but he'd done the right thing. Deep down, he knew it was worth it... but the sharpness of the loss he felt still stung.

***

"Thank you," Virgil said, hours later when his sprained ankle was tended to, and all the cuts and scrapes on his legs, arms and face had been cleaned up.

"Hmm?" Roman didn't look up from the comic he'd borrowed from Virgil, focused on the story unfolding before him.

"For not just... abandoning me. I know you missed out on gold, but... the internet loves you now, if that's any consolation."

Roman smiled, even if it was bittersweet.

"As long as you're okay."

He heard Virgil shuffling around, heavy footsteps, then felt the pressure and heat of him directly next to him. Roman's stomach fluttered.

"I'm running away before you can punch me for this."

Confusion muddled his head.

"Wh–" Roman froze at his cheek being kissed.

Before his mind could process it, Virgil had disappeared into the ensuite bathroom. His fingers slowly raised to the spot, and heat pooled into his face, rendering it bright red. Um...? He weirdly found that he didn't hate it. In fact, the more he thought about it... But Virgil was a Black Dragon. Roman paused.

Bollocks to the teams.


End file.
